


The Bench

by helsinkibaby



Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2148402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in Washington, there is a bench.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bench

**Author's Note:**

> For the [](http://writers-choice.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://writers-choice.livejournal.com/)**writers_choice** bench challenge

Somewhere in a park in Washington, not so very far from the White House, there is a bench.

Nothing special about it; it is for all intents and purposes a very ordinary bench. Dark wood, neatly varnished, purple flowers blooming around it during spring and summer, just like most other benches in the park.

There is nothing special about it, except that every time Ainsley sees it, she smiles.

She smiles because she remembers being out for a jog one Sunday morning, being so embarrassed to meet him sitting there on that bench, reading his Sunday newspaper. She'd hoped he wouldn't see her but as always he missed nothing, and then she hoped he wouldn't talk to her, but damn his manners, that's not the way he was raised.

So they spoke. And it was nice.

So nice that when the same thing happened the next week, it didn't feel weird to slow down, stretch a little, chat a spell.

So nice that it became their habit, and in the summer, when it was too hot to jog, she walked, sat down beside him, even brought him a cup of coffee once or twice.

That bench was where they kissed for the first time.

Looking back, she thinks they both knew that it was never going to last. Between their jobs, the age difference, the political differences, they were never going to be in for the long haul. When they called it quits, they did so as friends, on that very bench, and Ainsley remembers thinking that they got out in the time, before they got serious, before they got hurt, before they got found out.

On mature recollection, she thinks that maybe only the last two are true.

Because there were times she found herself wondering, "What if?"

There were times she caught him looking at her, wondered was he thinking the same thing.

She never said anything though, and neither did he, not even after his heart attack when it would have been so easy.

And then he died.

He died and she cried for him at his funeral and she couldn't tell anyone how upset she really was, or why. All she could do was talk to CJ about a job, try in some small way to honour him, his memory, in what would have been his White House.

She's doing that, and she doesn't come past this bench much any more, just twice a year.

Once in the spring when the flowers are beginning to bloom, when the air is full of promise and she can taste that first kiss.

Once in the fall, at the start of November.

When she sits there, she can almost feel him beside her.

She thinks sometimes maybe he is.  



End file.
